Crossroads

It was dawn. The one time of day when Gotham was not plagued by dreary weather - it was still streaked with clouds, of course, but they were lit a brilliant red; fading into a pale orange at the very edges. The sun hadn't fully peeked over the edge of the black skyscrapers, but the corner that had was spilling over into the streets, black turning to dark orange. The windows looked like they were on fire again.

Red sky at morning, sailor take warning.

Hayley could vividly picture what she would be doing at this time; hunched over a cup of scalding, bitter coffee, glowering at the light struggling to shine through her thick, dark brown curtains. It didn't seem like a particularly happy scene - but she would take morning depression over this every day.

Which wasn't all that surprising, considering she was currently clutching a dead body, trying to hobble to the docks with an injured leg and an awful headache. At least she had help.

"What are we going to do?"

"We?" That came out a little harsher than she had intended.

Jean raised a pale blonde eyebrow, red lips pursed in disapproval and blue eyes flashing. "I loved him too, Hayley. He was my best friend."

"I know." Hayley avoided her gaze, wincing slightly when her eyes settled on her brother's face, frightfully pale - except for the half-smile carved into his right cheek, which was a deep scarlet.

Revulsion churned in her stomach and hot bile rose in the back of her throat, just as it had done last night.

"Don't block me out."

"Don't snap at me." She snapped, "I'm trying to think."

The morning sun was pleasantly warm - but, rather than offering comfort, it only served to show how icy her brother's flesh was in comparison. Exhausted, Hayley briefy shut her eyes, the sun illuminating it a light red. Everything was fucking red - her brother's cheek, the sky, Jean's lipstick, the blood seeping into her jeans. Red was such a revolting colour - probably why it was abundant in Gotham. Gotham was a revolting city.

"How do you think it happened?" Jean murmured, breaking Hayley out of her scattered train of thought.

"He was probably trying to be brave. Help the mob by attacking the source."

"Do you really think it was the Joker?"

"I doubt any old goon would do that to his cheek. They would have just shot him in the head and ran." Hayley's voice was brutally calm - although it wasn't to hard to see the rage churning, churning, churning away. "Even if it wasn't him, it was his plan. His men."

She could feel the sorrow, cold and thick, pooling in the pit of her stomach. And she would mourn - she just had to get rid of the body first. She couldn't let him rot in a broken-down warehouse along with the other mob rats. He deserved more than that.

"Are we just going to... toss him in the water?"

"Better than leaving him there."

Jean didn't reply. She was silent, even as they rolled his body into the quarry a quarter hour later. Even as he was slowly swallowed up by the murky brown water and disappeared from their view.

She didn't even say her goodbyes.



Hayley leaned her head against the cool glass of Jean's car, eyes wandering over the scattering of people trudging out of their homes. Her brother's watch was in her hand, and even when on the verge of falling asleep she could hear the hands clanging inside of their little glass cage.

tick tock tick tock

"Fuck." Jean's voice trembled. Hayley didn't look over at her. "Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck."

tick tock tick tock

don't look at her don't look at her

She squeezed her eyes shut, ignoring the dull burning in her chest and the burning behind her eyelids as her friend quietly sobbed beside her. Hayley couldn't hear her, but she could feel it - like the air was shaking along with Jean's shoulders. Goosebumps broke across her skin and her fingers twitched. She wasn't going to cry. The engine rumbled underneath them, the stench of gasoline and tobacco so heady that she wanted to gag. She heard the familiar fizz of a lighter being flicked open.

"Are you smoking?" her eyes slid open, only to see the tell-tale curls of white smoke and the breathy sigh of satisfcation that left Jean's lips.

"Why, do you want one?" her voice was still thick with tears.

"No."

Jean made an odd sound then - like the desperate whine of a dog.

"We just rolled him into the water, Hayley. Like he didn't even matter."

"He didn't matter to the guy who killed him." If it were possible, she would have curled her lip and snarled like a dog.

"I know." she sniffed and rubbed wearily at her eyes, her swell of emotion slowly ebbing away. Hayley glanced at her face, and grimaced at the skeletal pattern of Jean's cheap masacara, tracked onto her pale cheeks. "You don't have to act so fucking disgusted. I'm crying. Something you should be doing right now."

"I know."



"Here's your stop." Jean unlocked the car and kicked her door open, the crunching of glass under her boots and the faint whistling of the wind the only sounds heard.

"Jean -" her voice was slightly breathy, as if she was holding back a sigh.

"I have to go."

It seemed like the little episode in the car - or rather, Hayley's reaction to it - had shoved a barrier between the two. It was a shame - she did really care for her.

"Why don't you come up?" Hayley motioned to her crummy flat with a toss of her head, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "I'll make us some coffee."

"I can't. I'm sorry." She turned away to leave.

"Jean, I do care. I do." Hayley's voice was strained as she tried to justify herself, tried to keep her from leaving. "I'm just angry. I'm going to make him pay, in whatever way I can. I swear."

Jean shook her head.

"Hayley, you can't. You know you can't." Her face was ashen, resigned. Hayley's was flushed pink with indignation and slight embarrasment. As if she had caught her out, proved her reckless nature to be no more than idiocy.

Hayley sighed, white smoke curling out of her pale lips. "I'll see you around."

"See you."

She spun around, practically running into her block of flats and up the five floors to her apartment. She was trembling, overcome with the weirdest feeling of fragility. Her skin felt like paper and she could feel her blood thrumming away in her veins. A sigh fell out of her lips, but even that gust of air seemed to quiver in the cold air of the hallway.

Blinking and shivering and sniffling, she jammed the key into the lock and slammed the door open. The inside of her house offered no warmth or comfort. She didn't turn the heater on, or switch any lights on. She just crawled under her covers and cried.